Today is one of those days when I hope that I will go to bed a different person to the one I was when I woke up.
But I am confident that I will not.
Actually, I could really use some sleep
Why is it that I took the minutes of the school council AGM about one year ago, but am only now, seven hours before the school secretary needs to photocopy them, typing them?
If you need me, I’m just here. Weeping into the vacuum of time which has passed but was never used.
Enough already
In Adelaide, the crepe myrtle is the iceberg rose of the future which is not quite the agapanthas of the past.
They almost make me happy for jacarandas.
I assume you are seeking responses more widely than just this blog
Mostly google seeks mundane things of this blog. How to make green iceblocks; where to find a home economics book on being a good wife; what’s it like to be a doctor’s wife (it’s a joke google, one with less political currency than it once had, I will admit, but a joke nonetheless); how to make nuts and bolts from nutri grain.
But every now and then it asks something that makes my heart skip a beat.
38 too old to have a child
regret having a child
I hope you find the answers. Whoever you are.
yep
I’m pretty sure that of all the ladies in the beauty salon, I am the only one whose knickers situation is so dire that she is wearing her husband’s undies.
Quick update
If the link isn’t working for you and you want to try typing it in, the address of the festival blog is
http://festivalblogger2.bigblog.com.au/index.do
It’s fun, though I wish I’d known about it a bit further in advance, and I would’ve done a bit of research so that I could do a bit more planning. Still, it’s good practice, this writing on the run stuff.
It’s fucking hot in this garrett. It’s still over 35 degrees. And it will be for the next week apparently.
If you need me, I’m on the phone. Catching up on all manner of administrivia that has banked up over the last couple of weeks.
Lots and none at all
I went in this competition (you just apply for everything you see, don’t you, said my friend) and now I’m one of three official Festival bloggers. You can see my entries over here if you’re interested. I think that might be the extent of my blogging for now.
In other news, things are up and down and up and down and up again. On the up, the head lice seem to be under control. We’ve been through a lot of conditioner. Tea tree oil has been recommended by a great many people (including river, see below).
If you need me, I’m just here. In my air conditioned house. I know. Not environmentally sound. But we haven’t used it this year. And it really is hot.
another new experience
There’s nothing says rock n roll lifestyle quite like head lice.
Those suckers are tenacious. Though, apparently, and kind of luckily for me, a little fussy about just whose blood they suck.
What was that? Are you all right?
Remember this?
You don’t?
You mean you’re not committing the details of my life to memory so that you’ve got all the backstory in case you’re asked to come in one day when one of the other writers is sick*?
Well, whether you remember it or not, I’m going to tell you that last night, I plugged it in using the replacement charger which was a little flimsy, and there was an enormous BANG followed by a swear word or two, a jump off the couch by the mister, a silence as all of the electrical appliances in the house went off, and a thank you to the universe for the invention of circuit breakers. Now, the powerpoint is looking quite black. The mister says it’s fine, but I’m calling an electrician in before I use it again.
I love that phone, I really do. But it’s not been working so great lately. And I can’t justify spending the enormous amounts of money required to replace the phone. Plus, like, I find having it switched on enormously stressful. Like I’d better answer it. And now. So I think it’s back to whatever it is they’ll give me with the cheapest plan I can find.
Oh, for independent wealth.
*I always hoped that one day I’d be asked to fill in for a writer on Home and Away or EastEnders or anything really, and that when I did I’d wow them with my intricate knowledge of those programmes. And they say that people don’t value a free university education. I’d still do it. Just in case you’re some television executive looking to take a risk on an ageing, but potentially excellent television writer.
Next year, there will be middle ground
On the weekend, I:
- moved my grandfather. I’ve grappled with that sentence a bit. Should I say ‘moved’ or ‘helped to move’;
- drank a bottle of red wine, despite best intentions to have a week of alcohol-free days;
- watched the last episode of series two of the West Wing and felt a bit lost at the thought of no West Wing for at least a week until I get a chance to get back into the ABC shop, and forced the mister to apologise for making rude comments about the amount of money I spent on that DVD set, because isn’t it a brilliant way of watching television shows;
- went on a tour of the West Terrace Cemetery with my Dad;
- helped the mister to hang a load of washing out;
- hid behind the fridge and cupboard doors to scoff the last of the large Easter Rabbit the mister bought me for a present on Saturday night which was so enormous I couldn’t eat it all in one night, and that’s why I had to hide to eat the rest, so no one else would see me and want to ‘taste a bit’;
- grappled a bit more with my upstART set while the mister took the boys to a birthday party;
- read the reviews a few more times, because…well, because it’s exciting and fun, and because I don’t expect I’ll be getting reviewed all that often and I would never be one of those people to say ‘I don’t read reviews’;
- went to see Ross Noble – there was a great many of us running across Grote Street (or is it Gouger) to get to the car park before it closed. See, now, how Adelaide is that…not staying until the end of the encore, because you have to get your car out of the carpark (even if you did catch the tram in to meet the mister because he had taken the boys from the party straight to my babysitting Dad’s);
- went to pick up my boys from my Dad’s house very late at night, then facilitated an interesting and complex manouvre involving taxis so that all of us could get home even though we were all going different places;
- went to see Hot Pink Bits which was really, really good – with just the perfect amount of rude;
- fell into bed at midnight and dreamed frightening dreams about not getting my set finished on time.
So, you know, the usual gamut of emotions.
Next year.
Next year will be filled with more middle ground.
Oh, and yes, there was a car race. Not my can of bourbon, but plenty of people loved it.